


Or A Fortune For Your Disaster

by ShippingEverything



Series: i've already given up on myself twice [1]
Category: Frühlings Erwachen | Spring Awakening - Frank Wedekind, Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: (is that technically prostitution??? idk), Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Black Hanschen, Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, Experienced Ernst, Lämmermeier is not Otto my dudes, M/M, MEANING THIS IS A PLAY FIC NOT A MUSICAL FIC, Plot With Porn, Porn With Plot, Recreational Drug Use, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Coercion, This was supposed to be pwp but APPARENTLY i cant do that so, also introducing gay hans and bi ernst, drug dealer hans, inspired by anya reiss' translation, its Hans "little hansi" Rilow, play hänschen and musical hanschen are different people, sex used as currency
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-13 05:53:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7964989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShippingEverything/pseuds/ShippingEverything
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“Robel.” Hans' voice is short and clipped. His tone is icy hard, but Ernst just smiles lazily back at Hans. </i>God<i>, Hans thinks, looking at the clock in the front of the classroom, </i>How pathetic<i>. It’s the second to last class of the day, only six minutes until they’re let out, and Ernst is high as a kite. Hans is a </i>drug dealer<i> and even </i>he<i> finds it pitiful that Ernst can’t through the day without a haze. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Or A Fortune For Your Disaster

**Author's Note:**

  * For [howveryzoe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/howveryzoe/gifts).



> this was a Joke and then, suddenly, i had a 1k word doc of plot and it was very much Not A Joke
> 
> this is for zoe, as so many of my fics are, and for anyone else who's tried of the tried fandom stereotypical hans and ernst, hope my fic shakes stuff up for you!
> 
> title from Fall Out Boy's Don't You Know Who I Think I Am? "A penny for your thoughts / but a dollar for your insights / or a fortune for your disaster"

Hans Rilow knows that he isn’t intelligent, that he isn’t tall or muscular or the perfect man, that he isn’t _Melchior Gabor_ , but Hans knows that he’s attractive and witty and that’s all that really matters.

He has his dark complexion, his stature, and his dry wit from his mother; he has high cheekbones, a deep voice, and upturned eyes from his father. He knows that he’s not quite a model but he also knows that he’s pretty enough that people will often ask him if he’s ever modeled. It’s a _thing_ , nothing that he exactly brags about, but he knows that people look his way when he walks into a room even if they do nothing about it. It’s the way it’s always been: Hans Rilow, that bitchy but pretty kid that sells pot, enough good reputation to pull people in but enough bad reputation to push them away. It’s how it’s always been, with everyone _except_ Ernst Robel.

Hans doesn’t know why he cares. Ernst Robel is a lazy stoner who somehow floats around with average grades despite showing up to class stoned nine out of ten times, if he even goes at all. _Everything_ about Ernst Robel is normal; he’s of average height, with an unassuming face and brown hair, with dusty brown eyes that don’t draw anyone’s attention. He is plain and boring and completely, totally _normal_ , the type of boy that no one should look over twice. And yet…

And yet, Hans can’t help but find himself drawn to him, somehow.

“ _Hansi_ ,” A voice trills, the only warning Hans gets before Ernst Robel all but lays himself on Hans’ desk.

“Robel.” Hans’ voice is short and clipped. His tone is icy hard, but Ernst just smiles lazily back at Hans. _God_ , Hans thinks, looking at the clock in the front of the classroom, _How pathetic._ It’s the second to last class of the day, only six minutes until they’re let out, and Ernst is high as a kite. Hans is a _drug dealer_ and even _he_ finds it pitiful that Ernst can’t through the day without a haze.

“Hansi,” Ernst says, and Hans only lets him because if it’s not _Hansi_ it’s _Little Hans_ and Hans has learned to choose his battles. “Listen, I know I owe you some money, but-”

“No,” Hans says, cutting Ernst off unrepentantly, “You’re not ‘good for it’, you won’t ‘pay me back later’, I will not ‘put it on your tab’. You owe me for a _week_ , Robel, and I won’t give you an gram more until you pay off your debts.”

“But you don’t _understand_ ,” Ernst whines a bit too loudly. A few people look over and Hans tries to pretend that anything is happening but the shady drug deal that actually is.

“ _Shut up_ ,” He hisses.

Ernst, unsurprisingly, does not shut up. “Hansi, I _need_ you.”

Now more than just a few people are openly staring, whispering, texting. _God damn it_. Hans can feel his face heat up in embarrassment, thankful for his complexion to hide the blush. Hans has been out since freshman year, since Max Von Trenk, but that doesn’t mean that he likes being remembered or gossiped about as the Token Gay. “Robel-”

“Hans,” Ernst says, his tone and the proper use of Hans’ name shocking Hans into silence, “Please, just… meet me outside, near the soccer field? Please?”

Hans sighs. The entire room of eavesdropping teens holds it’s breath. “Fine. But if you’re not there by 2:45, I _will_ leave.”

“Thank you!” Ernst says, smiling again but slightly less vacant than earlier, before quickly kissing Hans on the cheek and ducking out as the bell rings, “I’ll see you there! I won’t be late!”

“What the _fuck_ ,” Hans mutters to the quickly emptying room. No one answers. “Jesus christ.”

* * *

 

After last class, Hans gathers up his stuff and makes his way to his locker, debating just leaving now to spite Ernst. He had thought about it all through last class, thinking how sad ernst would be but how free Hans would be, but he doesn’t think that he’ll actually go through with it. See, the only place that Ernst Robel _isn’t_ normal is when it comes to Hans.

Ernst owes Hans for a _week_ , for gods’ sakes, Hans never let’s anyone else get that much of a debt, _and_ Hans doesn’t automatically brush Ernst off as soon as he approaches Hans. Hans has always said he doesn’t have a type, but if he was being honest with himself, his type might just be _Average_. How else would one explain Hans’ disgusting predisposition towards Ernst? Hans lets Ernst get away with _way_ more than he’s let anyone else do, and he knows it. He would know it even if he lived in a perfect world where people _didn’t_ feel the need to point it out every five minutes.

“So,” Lämmermeier, a big blond brute of a boy that likes to smokes on the weekends to celebrate losing yet another school football game, says as he leans on Hans’ locker. “I hear you and Robel are ren-day-vah-ing at the football field.”  
“One, _rendezvous_ , jesus, never try to speak French in my presence ever again,” Hans scowls and pushes Lämmermeier out of the way so that he can open his locker. It’s only been one class and already everyone knows. “Two, if you ever want anything from me every again, shut the fuck up.”

Lämmermeier raises his hands in a mock surrender but he’s still smirking. Hans is tempted to hold out just because of that, but it’s a Friday and Lämmermeier’s money is good money, no matter how much a dumb douchebag Lämmermeier is.

Lämmermeier follows Hans outside like he does every Friday and, once they’re far enough from the school, Hans stops to rummage around in his backpack, past the fake bottom and the air fresheners, and grab two small bags of weed. “You know the price.”

“No discount for your favorite customer?” Lämmermeier asks, but he’s already handing over the money, only saying the words to complete a tradition.

“Fuck off,” Hans says, but his words are empty too.

Lämmermeier smiles and runs off. “Have fun on your _date_.”

“It’s not a date,” Hans mutters as he stalks his way over to the soccer field. “I don’t even _like_ Robel.”

“Well, my plan might not be as effective then,” Ernst says, popping out of fucking _nowhere_ and nearly giving Hans a heart attack.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Hans says, holding his chest.

“Just Ernst, actually,” Ernst grins, cheeks dimpling with the force. Hans feels his stomach twist even as he forces himself to scowl and he hates himself a little bit for it.

“What do you want, Robel?”

Ernst looks around and then says, “Not here,” before he’s grabbing Hans’ arm and dragging Hans beneath the bleachers.

“Oh god no,” Hans says, partially because under the bleachers is _disgusting_ and partially because he _knows_ that look. It’s the _‘Hans is gay, he’ll be easily seduced and then I’ll have free weed forever’_ look and he _hates it_ , especially on Ernst for whom it actually might work.

“What?” Ernst asks, blinking like he _doesn’t know_ , like Hans isn’t smart enough to have already figured it out.

“You want to fuck me for weed,” Hans says, and his lip curls up in disgust when Ernst looks ashamed but doesn’t deny it. “Are you- Are you serious? Did you think this would actually work? Your life isn’t some shitty porno, Robel- mmf!”

Ernst grabs Hans by his tie and pulls him in for a kiss, rough and slamming their noses together, more pain than pleasure. After a moment, Ernst fixes the angle so that it’s not just a painful mess, making sure to push his fingers into Hans’ hair to effectively hold him there as Ernst shoves his tongue into Hans’ mouth, deepening the kiss.

Hans, shocked that Ernst would be that forward and that Ernst would be that good at kissing, takes a moment longer than he would’ve liked to respond, but when he does it’s effective. Hans reaches up to take Ernst’s face into his hands before he shoves his longer than normal nails into Ernst’s cheeks and _tugs_ , leaving shallow but painful scrapes.

“ _Holy fuck_ ,” Ernst says, jumping back, “You _clawed_ me, what the _hell_.”

“You _kissed_ me, you shoved your _tongue_ in my _mouth_!”

“But you’re-” Ernst starts. Hans scoffs.

“Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I want to hook-up with every straight stoner boy that I meet, Robel, now if you’ll excuse me-”

"Wait,” Ernst grabs onto Hans’ sleeve to stop him. Hans glares back but Ernst doesn’t waver. “Hans, I’m not straight.”

“Well, _good for you_ , you’re still a dick.”

Ernst shakes his head, “I don’t think you’re getting this. I don’t want to fuck you for weed because I’m a straight asshole, I want you to let me suck your dick.”

 _Let him?_ The part of Hans’ mind that he usually represses thinks, _I’d_ beg _him_.

 _Jesus christ, shut the_ fuck _up_ , Hans thinks viciously back to himself. To Ernst he says, “What?”

“I want to suck your dick,” Ernst says, as though he’s discussing Sunday brunch and not an illicit public blowjob, “I want you to come in my mouth and I want you to enjoy it enough that you think it settles my debts and is maybe worth another quad.”

“Oh my god,” Hans says, burying his face in his hands. _What’s the worst that could happen?_ He thinks, imaging Ernst Robel on his knees in front of him, working hard to give a blowjob worthy of some weed. He can’t deny the way his cock twitches in interest.

“So…” Ernst says, dragging the word out, “Is this going to happen or-”

“On your knees,” Hans says, voice shockingly authoritative for how much his hands are shaking. Ernst grins and sinks to his knees, already reaching for Hans’ belt. _Oh my god, this is actually happening_.

“ _Damn_ ,” Ernst says as he pulls out Han’s half-hard cock, looking up at Hans through his eyelashes, “Like I didn’t expect a pencil or anything, but _damn_.”

“You can’t be serious,” Hans says as Ernst just stares at Hans’ dick like it’s a particularly hard math problem he has to solve, “There is no way you’re a _real person_ , real people don’t just _say that_ \- _ohmygod_.”

Ernst has, during Hans’ speech, nodded sharply before spitting twice on his hand and deciding to conquer Hans’ dick. His hand wraps neatly around Hans’ dick, as though it was _made_ to fit on Hans, and it’s nearly impossible for Hans to speak when Ernst starts stroking as though he’s testing out a particularly fun toy. Ernst hums contemplatively as he plays with Hans’ foreskin, forcing Hans to nearly bite a chunk out of his lip.

“It’s beautiful.”

“You’re high,” Hans says despairingly, running a hand over his face.

Ernst shakes his head, “I just really like cocks.”

Hans makes an embarrassingly high-pitched noise. “You have a _girlfriend_.”

“Had,” Ernst says absently before leaning in to kiss Hans’ cockhead, “Greta didn’t like that I was sleeping with Melchior but it’s not like she was putting out. She’s dating some guy on the basketball team now.”  
Hans wants to ask more about Melchior because _Ernst and_ Gabor _? Together?_ But Ernst chooses that moment to put his mouth on Hans’ dick and suddenly Hans can’t think of _anything_ anymore.

“Do you know what you like?” Ernst asks, his voice even and normal despite the string of spit still connecting his mouth to Hans’ cock.

Hans weakly shakes his head. Max had given him one incredibly toothy blowjob before declaring that he didn’t like the taste and since then Hans has yet to get a decent blowjob. “Just, what you just did was fine,” Hans says, his voice cracking.

Ernst grins toothily. “That was barely anything, Hansi, you’re in for a real treat.”

Ernst goes down on Hans like his cock is a dessert, all wet kisses and languid licks and sloppy sucks. Hans is, embarrassingly, a moaning, quivering mess in a matter of mere seconds.

“God, you’re- _fuck_ \- you’re good at this,” Hans says, hands clenched into fists at his side.

Ernst pulls off with a pop and smiles up at Hans. “I told you,” He says, then as though he can read Hans’ mind, “You can put your hands in my hair.”

Hans lets out a breath, he had had _no idea_ what to do with his hands, and gently strokes his fingers through Ernst’s soft hair. Ernst reaches a hand up and does _something_ to Hans’ balls and suddenly he’s coming, before he can even think to warn Ernst. Ernst suctions on, clearly swallowing a few times-- _Jesus_ , he thinks, and if he wasn’t so worn out he would find that _so hot_ \--before pulling away at last. A bit of Hans’ semen has found its way onto Ernst’s lips, and when Hans gestures at it, Ernst just licks his lips happily.

“So,” Ernst says expectantly, “How was that?”  
Hans… Hans needs to sit down, honestly, but instead he just blinks at Ernst. “I- I have no words.”

“So what was that worth?” Ernst asks, grinning and wiping the dirt off his knees, “Because I don’t exactly know the weed to blowjob conversion rate.”

Hans doesn’t either, but he blinks away his afterglow and digs through his bag to hand Ernst half an ounce. “That should… That should be enough.”

“ _And_ my debts are settled? Oh, wow, this should be a normal thing!” Ernst’s eyes light up. Hans feels his knees go weak at the idea of getting _weekly blowjobs from Ernst_. Ernst takes the weed and leaves, throwing a quick “See you next week” over his shoulder.

Hans stays there, under the bleachers, leaning on one of the supports. _Jesus_ , he thinks, _What have I gotten myself into?_

 

**Author's Note:**

> there'll be more in this verse because i'm Trash, but who knows when that'll happen lol
> 
> [Main Tumblr](http://www.liveinlivingcolor.tumblr.com) | [Writing Blog](http://nacreousglowclouds.tumblr.com/) | [Personal Twitter](http://twitter.com/squidias)


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